


Button's Adventures in (Sub)Space

by midnightstreet



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: D/s elements, David Has What Patrick Needs, Domme Alexis, M/M, Non-Sexual Submission, Pre-Relationship, Things David Wishes He Didn’t Know, When In Doubt Run Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28184976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightstreet/pseuds/midnightstreet
Summary: “So, you asked why I was looking at you strangely today. The way you’ve been...out of sorts? I had an idea about what might be bothering you. I could bewayout of line here, and totally wrong, but…”David trails off, and Patrick, mortified though he is at the idea that David may have picked up on whatever Patrick may or may not be feeling(which would be amazing, since Patrick can’t even admit it to himself)still wants to hear what David has to say.“Have you ever heard the term ‘subspace’?
Relationships: Patrick Brewer & David Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, past Patrick Brewer/Rachel - Relationship
Comments: 28
Kudos: 109





	Button's Adventures in (Sub)Space

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Januarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Januarium/gifts).



> For Jan, who encouraged this...whatever this is...to grow from one throwaway comment in chat. Happy Birthday!
> 
> Thank you to my marvelous beta, [unfolded73](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/unfolded73/pseuds/unfolded73), to [elswherefumbling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elswherefumbling/pseuds/Elswherefumbling) for additional help, and to my subby friend S for her suggestions and support and noises of happiness.

It’s not until Patrick drops the third— _third!_ —jar of bath salts, that he knows that whatever’s going on with him has reached a breaking point. Or, at least, the point at which David is going to kick Patrick out of the store for destroying his precious stock.

The itch started a week ago, just as they settled into a rhythm of picking up inventory, unpacking boxes, and arranging (or, in Patrick’s case, watching _David_ arrange) product _just so_. Patrick felt tense; irritated; stretched thin. He wondered if David’s many (many) idiosyncrasies were getting on his nerves. But he felt it when he wasn’t with David, when he wasn’t even _thinking about_ David. Like something was under his skin, making him twitch. He had run through his first few ideas in quick succession: more caffeine, no caffeine at all, a very sad attempt at meditating, a cool bath, a five-mile run, and finally, Benadryl, which had sort of helped, but only for a while, and likely because it knocked him out for a solid thirteen hours.

That Feeling continued to sit uncomfortably in him: it was like the world had moved two inches to the left, and Patrick couldn’t recognize it, beyond knowing that somehow, something was wrong. _Wrongwrongwrong._

Now up to $57 worth of destroyed merchandise, Patrick decides to remove himself from the situation, taking his sense of unease with him across the street to the cafe, dodging Twyla’s concerns about why he’s so pale — “It’s in my DNA,” he jokes with a nervous chuckle — and clammy, and taking his tuna melt and iced tea back to his room at Ray’s. He must sleep through Ray’s nightly check-in; when he wakes up, feeling like he’s been run over, it’s dark out. Patrick uses the toilet and splashes water on his face before going out for a run, returning drenched in sweat and gasping for breath just as the sun comes up.

He never does eat his tuna melt.

++++++++++

Patrick is allowed back in the store the next morning on a trial basis, but is relegated to the small desk in the stock room. He’s happy to occupy his mind with figures and spreadsheets, letting his brain run on autopilot. The monotony makes everything...quieter.

When he finally snaps out of his haze, Patrick looks up at the clock to find two hours have passed. He wonders if David came back here while Patrick was lost in Excel; if he did, Patrick missed it. Stretching and cracking his neck — _holy_ shit _does that feel good_ — Patrick pulls back the curtain, wincing at the bright late-morning light, only to be poked in the chest by...oh. David, menacing him with a feather duster.

“What” _poke_ “did” _poke_ “I” _poke_ “say??” _poke poke_

Patrick puts up his hands in surrender, taking a step back. “Don’t worry, I promise not to go near the merchandise! I just wanted to have a stretch and be reminded what daylight looks like.”

David turns up one corner of his mouth, eyeing Patrick skeptically. “You are terrible at following orders.”

Patrick gulps. “Was...was that an order?”

“Yes!” David wails, waving his arms and flailing his body around. “When I said stay in there, I _meant_ stay in there; Mrs. Lutz hates me, and I refuse to have to tell her that we need a restock on those divine-smelling bath salts _before we’ve even opened_!” David huffs in frustration.

“Okay, point taken. Is there something else I can do, though? I really do need at least 10 minutes away from my cave.”

David tilts his head, considering. “Fine. You’re going to do _exactly_ as I tell you, do you understand?”

Patrick shudders.

“You’re going to walk across the street to the cafe. Once you’re inside the cafe you are going to keep your hands in your pockets and try not to get within five feet of anything that looks breakable. You will get one chocolate chip muffin for me, one apple turnover for yourself, and our usual coffee and tea. Do you think you can handle that?” When Patrick doesn’t respond, David prompts, “Well? What part of that wasn’t clear?”

Patrick...honestly can’t make out what David is saying. He can see his lips moving, can hear noise from David’s direction, but it’s like the adults in the Peanuts cartoon, just a bunch of _wah wah wah_ trombone sounds. He can feel his heart rate ratcheting up, but his shoulders are....relaxing?

Patrick shakes his head as though trying to clear water from his ears, his eyes finally focusing to see David giving him a strange, considering look; he feels a bit like a specimen under a microscope. It makes him want to look away, turn away, but also, for some reason, it makes him want to stand still, to be...studied.

Finally David takes mercy on him, repeating his order patiently. Patrick spins on his heel and is out the door in three seconds flat.

++++++++++

Patrick returns fifteen minutes later, coffee and tea in a carrier that he’s using all his mental energy to keep upright. As he sets the drinks down on the counter, David steps out of the small room at the rear of the store. Instead of making his usual squeal at the arrival of sugar, though, David again studies Patrick, approaching him slowly.

“Patrick? Did you get what I asked you for?”

“Uh, yes?” Patrick is a bit confused as to why David is speaking like this. David uses many tones; often utilizes his face and body and anything else at his disposal to make a point about how he feels in a particular moment, but speaking to Patrick like a small child is a new one.

It’s...interesting.

“Good. You did a very good job, and I’m proud of you.”

_Uh. What??_

David’s gaze leaves Patrick’s, dropping pointedly toward the counter. Patrick follows David’s eyeline, expecting to see something obviously wrong with their cafe order that Patrick has totally missed, but finds that, where he had been unable to keep his fingers still a moment ago, either with a small tremor, or from tapping them on the wood, Patrick’s hand is now...

Oh.

It’s completely still.

“When was the last time you ate?” David asks, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. Patrick gropes around in his mind for an answer, finding his memories of yesterday harder to grasp onto than usual.

“Lunch yesterday, I guess?”

David tsks. “Did you eat something while you were waiting at the cafe? Or take a bite of your pastry or sip of your tea on the way here?”

“No! David, what is with you? First you’re speaking to me like a child, now you’re going on about my eating habits? I’m really not up for this; I’ve been in a—”

“Bad mood. Yes. I know. For, what has it been, a week? Almost that?”

“Um. Yeah. I didn’t realize you’d noticed.”

“Patrick, it was pretty hard _not_ to notice. I mean, frantic as I am trying to make this place come together, I only spend sixty percent of the day, _every_ day, in here with you.”

“Oh.”

“It’s...nevermind. Let’s sit out on the steps and eat; wouldn’t want to send you back to your ‘cave’ any sooner than necessary.” David smirks and steps past Patrick to the door.

++++++++++

Since Patrick’s hands have stopped shaking, David allows him to come out and start shifting boxes, stocking shelves, and arranging things to David’s exacting specifications. Delighting in the feeling that things are back to normal, Patrick doesn’t realize how long he’s been at it until, after coming out of the back room, sweaty and dirty from hanging a shelf, he finds that the sun had mostly gone down. David has swept the floor — _miracle of miracles_ — and dragged the office chair out of the stock room, now sipping wine from a small paper cup.

“What’s this then?” Patrick asks, putting the broom back where it belongs. “Are we celebrating something?”

“Mm, sort of. Just...a good day, I think. Don’t you agree?” Patrick laughs, taking the proffered second cup and giving himself a healthy pour of wine. The truth is, he’s feeling much better, though he doesn't let on to David that things still feel...off, somehow. He may not be showing it outwardly, but Patrick still feels like the world isn’t quite sitting right.

“Patrick?” David prompts.

“Huh? Oh. Umm. Yeah, good day.” Patrick chugs his wine in one go. 

“Whoa, slow down there. Or, actually, uh. This is my second glass; you didn’t hear me 20 minutes ago when I called to you that I was going to start wrapping it up for the day. So, here, have another; you’ve still got catching up to do.” Patrick holds out his cup, and David fills it again before topping off his own. 

David starts talking, as he often does, about his plans for the store, the look he wants to create. Though the stock has started to come in, David regrets not waiting until more of the furniture and little touches were in place: he’d like to get some seagrass baskets, decorative plants to fill the ladder shelves in the front windows, and something to put produce in. Patrick nods along, looking around, and finds he’s getting better at speaking David’s language, easily able to see where these things would slot in.

Realizing he’s been on his feet for far too long, Patrick goes in the back to retrieve a crate to sit on while David opens another bottle of wine (“I swear I paid for it!” David insists; Patrick is skeptical) and pours glasses for both of them. Tallying up the wine they’ve consumed, Patrick heads to the refrigerated case, taking out a bottle of water for each of them and chugging half of his own in one go. 

Despite the water, Patrick still feels pleasantly tipsy: he had his pastry around 11, then some soup and a salad for lunch at 1, but he certainly isn’t drinking on a full stomach. In the end, though, he doesn’t care: the alcohol is soothing that itch under his skin, and he wonders why he didn’t think of this as a potential solution to his problem days ago.

Facing David again, Patrick prompts, “Penny for your thoughts?” settling into his spot on the crate.

David looks at him in _that way_ again, as though he’s seeking the answer to a riddle.

“Okay, what is that? Why do you keep looking at me that way?”

David puts his cup down on the floor and tilts closer. “I’m not sure how to say this, and god, if I’m wrong, this is going to make things beyond awkward between us.”

Patrick nearly chokes around his wine. “Um, you can. No, you can say it, please; I won’t hold anything against you.”

“Do you know anything about. Umm. BDSM?” David whispers, as though sharing a secret.

Patrick drops his (thankfully empty) wine cup. _Oh god, is this...is David trying to…?_

“So, you asked why I was looking at you strangely today. The way you’ve been...out of sorts? I had an idea about what might be bothering you. I could be _way_ out of line here, and totally wrong, but…”

David trails off, but Patrick, mortified though he is at the idea that David may have picked up on whatever Patrick may or may not be feeling ( _which would be amazing, since Patrick can barely admit it to himself_ ) still wants to hear what David has to say.

“Have you ever heard the term ‘subspace’? Most people aren’t familiar with this stuff; I constantly have to remind myself that ‘most people’ didn’t enjoy the, uh… _diverse_ sexual scene I did in my wilder days.”

“Umm, I have, actually. Heard of it.” Patrick cuts in, not quite making eye contact. He refills his own wine and passes the bottle to David before continuing. “My...the woman I was with, at the time. She wanted to go to this club,” David nods, encouraging Patrick to continue, “just the once, to see what it was like. She had made a friend at work who was a little more, what did you say? ‘Diverse?’ Than we were.” Patrick meets David’s eyes, and they share a laugh.

“Oh, do go on!” David encourages, leaning over to prop his chin up in his hand and smirking. “Tell me all about the key parties going on in the suburbs of Ontario!”

Patrick laughs. “You’re terrible. We can’t all be like you, going to orgies every weekend.”

“No, the orgies were only once a month. I thought about organizing more, but…”

“So this guy, he and his wife went to a club in Ottawa, and apparently he just...couldn’t stop talking about it. It was their first experience doing anything not, um, normal?”

“Vanilla,” David interrupts.

“Vanilla, okay. So I guess it planted the idea in Rachel’s head. I don’t know about other people from where we grew up, but we certainly hadn’t been exposed to anything like that, at least not outside of, you know. Internet porn.” 

David smirks, draining his glass.

Patrick eyes the wine bottle, trying to decide how much to give away. “Me and Rachel, we had. Been having issues? Like — shit, I shouldn’t be telling you this — we needed to try something to fix what was wrong. No, what was _broken_.” Patrick is surprised at his own boldness. “It couldn’t make things any worse than they already were. So we made a long weekend of it, got a nice hotel, got dressed up, and, umm.” He looks up expecting derision, or judgement, but when he takes in the expression on David’s face, Patrick finds himself believing that he’s safe here, telling this story: David won’t think less of him for this.

“Long story short, this gorgeous woman wanted to ‘play’ with us, and kind of...made me do things? While Rachel watched. We were in a mostly-private room, at least. And it was nothing extreme; I didn’t get whipped or follow her around on a leash, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

David shakes his head. “Whatever she did, did...did you enjoy it?”

“Kind of? I liked getting out of my own head for a while. I liked having to follow orders, be told what I was allowed to do and when I was allowed to do it.” Patrick feels his already-flushed face heating up further. He puts down his wine and pushes it away, cutting himself off, then lifts the still-cool bottle of water to each of his reddened cheeks in turn.

“Did you ever do it again?” David puts his own wine cup at the far end of the counter, sitting up straight in his chair. His voice has been getting steadily deeper.

“Just with Rachel, at home. Looking back, I think Rachel was jealous that that woman, uh. Accomplished something? With me? Something Rachel wasn’t able to.” _Oh god, his face is on_ fire _._ “In the end, somehow it really did make things worse. All of this? Was only 5 months ago; not long after that, we threw in the towel for good, and I came here for something different. Sorry, all of that was kind of an over-share.”

“‘Different’ is certainly one way of putting it. And you’re fine; that was all fine. I’m actually glad you told me, because, well. Remember me asking you, about 17 glasses ago, whether you had heard of subspace?”

“Yeah?”

“Obviously I can’t know for sure, and I know I’m being really...overly-familiar, talking to you about this, but. I think there might be something to that? The subspace thing. Some people...when they need that, they can kind of act the way you’ve been acting? It wasn’t until today that. Well.”

Patrick sits up ramrod straight, utterly gobsmacked. 

“It wasn’t until today that I put it together. Do you remember, this morning, when I ordered you to go to the cafe? I swear I could physically _see_ the tension draining out of you, the way your shoulders dropped. And when you came back, you seemed more relaxed; your hand had even stopped shaking. I thought maybe your blood sugar had been low, but you still hadn’t eaten anything at that point.” David stops talking, his words hanging in the air. Patrick takes the chair David had vacated, planting himself _hard_ and covering his eyes with his hand.

He needs a minute to think. A lot of minutes, actually. Stuttering out a pathetic apology, Patrick does the only thing he seems to be capable of, these days.

He runs.

++++++++++

To make up for the previous night, Patrick sits down to dinner with Ray. That tension is back, along with shakes and irritability. He finally has to excuse himself before he snaps at Ray for telling the same story about Bob’s back spasms for the third time. 

Alone in his room, Patrick stares up at the ceiling. It’s impossible not to think about what David said. He feels like he should be angry at him for overstepping. After all, they hardly know each other. True, they spend a significant amount of time together, chatting about everything and nothing as the hours tick by. After their first meeting, Patrick thought David was just another bizarre resident of Schitt’s Creek, someone to be amused by rather than befriend. Ultimately it had been David’s vision for his business that lured Patrick in the door, and his passion which made Patrick want to stay; to help David realize his dream. David, he quickly realized, was a genuinely good person; strange at times, and often irritating, but on balance someone he enjoyed spending time with.

And David certainly knew more about a lot of things than Patrick did. Patrick had grown up in something of a bubble, rarely thinking about the wider world beyond his small hometown. He had always had the warmth of a loving home, the drive for academic and athletic pursuits, the affection and attention of his friends and girlfriend. He didn’t think he’d been missing anything. As his world grew to include college in a larger town a few hours from home, Patrick was exposed to more kinds of people; more ideas. He loved the diversity of interests and experiences this new environment offered him. But, at the end of the day, he was just a small-town boy who got a job, bought a wardrobe of blue dress shirts, rented an apartment in a complex of a hundred, and had vaguely-fulfilling twice-weekly sex with his girlfriend, whom everyone assumed he would one day marry before buying a starter home, getting a dog, and coaching his kids’ Little League team.

Obviously, that hadn’t worked out.

Patrick had been cowardly, running away from his old life, but also, maybe...brave? He left everything behind to be free of a life that was suffocating him. If he could do that, maybe…

Yeah, okay. He can do this.

Patrick picks up his laptop from the nightstand, googling ‘BDSM’ and staring in awe at the number of search results. Next step, narrow it down: he tries “subspace” instead. Some of the results are clearly not what he’s looking for, but he finds a few that are, and starts a nice collection of tabs.

Two hours, two aspirin, and two glasses of water later, Patrick is feeling more clear-headed and more confident: David was on to something. He puts his laptop away, uses the bathroom, and turns out the lights. Climbing under the covers and shoving a hand down his shorts, he brings himself off in record time to David’s words and all the wonderful things the internet showed him.

++++++++++

Patrick walks into Rose Apothecary on a gorgeous Friday morning and is shocked to find David has beaten him there. Having apparently heard the jingle of the bell on the door, David rushes out of the stock room and up to Patrick so quickly that he finds himself needing to take a step back. David mellows a bit and takes a step back himself, forcing his hands to his sides. “Hi,” David whispers.

“Hi yourself,” Patrick returns, offering a big smile. 

“So, I need to apologize. No, wait, please just hear me out.” David maintains eye contact, but starts to fiddle with his rings. “I was _way_ over the line last night. I had too much to drink — I know you did too, but it was my fault for getting out the wine in the first place — and I not only overstepped, I brought the subject of sex into the workplace, which is unacceptable. But I really enjoy working with you, and I hope that you decide to stay on. I, umm. I really need you, for this; I can’t imagine doing it without you.”

Patrick taps his foot impatiently. “Okay, you may speak,” David allows, bobbing his head from side to side and making a grand sweeping gesture.

“So all of that? Please forget it.” David starts to shake his head, but Patrick...there’s no way he’s going to forget that. “I appreciate the apology. First of all, I shouldn’t have run out of here like that last night. It was cruel of me to leave you thinking you’d done something wrong. _Don’t_ say it! You did nothing wrong. In another workplace, sure, but I don’t consider myself your employee, so much as the guy who saved your ass,” Patrick snarks over David’s face’s extreme objection, “and really, you have no power over me, since my being fired would hurt you more than it would hurt me.”

David nods his agreement at that point.

“I ran out of here last night because you were right. You 100% nailed it, and I couldn’t deal with that. These feelings I’ve had...I’ve tried to ignore them, but I guess I can’t anymore. I need to do something about this before I lose my mind.”

“Oh wow, I’m...that’s wonderful! I was hoping you’d say that, because, well...I’m just going to throw this out there...I think Alexis might be able to help you out.”

Patrick feels like someone has dumped a bucket of cold water on him. “Alexis? Your...your sister? What does she have to do with this?”

“Well, much as it pains me to say this — believe me, I’d love to have this information scrubbed from my brain — I happen to know that Alexis is...ugh...a Domme? And a pretty good one? She never did it professionally, but a lot of the rich guys she went through like tissues were into it, so I guess…” David shudders. “Can we stop talking about this please? The point is, I told Alexis I knew someone — I didn’t mention you! — who was pretty bad off and could use her help, and that I’d consider it a favor. I’m going to owe her big, but it will definitely be worth it if it means I get to stop sweeping glass and chunks of sea salt off my beautiful floors.”

Patrick is pretty sure he’s forgotten the English language. He gropes around for a response, before landing back on, “Your sister?”

David rolls his eyes.

++++++++++

Patrick pulls into the motel parking lot at 7:59. David will be out, he’s been assured, as will their parents. Total privacy.

God, he feels queasy.

David’s ‘solution’ was so far from what Patrick was expecting him to say — from what Patrick desperately _wanted_ him to say — that he had been too stunned to refuse, to set the record straight. Instead, he now finds himself in a fresh shirt with — _god, what was he_ thinking _?_ — a blazer over it, knocking on the door to room 7. When it opens, its occupant bounces on her tiptoes before reaching out to bodily _drag_ Patrick inside.

“Oh my god! I didn’t know who David was talking about, but I hoped it would be you! You’re just — _ooh_ you’re just as cute as a button! And you’re not feeling like yourself? Oh no!” Alexis exclaims with an exaggerated pout. Her energy is almost more than Patrick can take. “Did you dress up just for me? Aww!” He goes a little cross eyed as one of her fingers extends toward his face before stopping on the tip of his nose. “Boop!” she declares cheerfully. “Well why don’t you make yourself at home while I slip into something more...comfortable.” She attempts to wink at him, and fails.

As Alexis takes her time in the bathroom, Patrick slips off his absurd blazer, placing it on what has to be David’s bed (the black-and-white linens are a dead giveaway), figuring they might need the other bed for...activities. _Oh god, he’s sweating so badly._

A few minutes later, the bathroom door opens and Patrick just about swallows his tongue. Alexis has removed her dress, and is now wearing a skimpy, silky pink slip, topped with a robe left wide open. It leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination; Patrick is pretty sure he can tell, even from this distance, that she isn’t wearing underwear.

He has to put a stop to this. Soon.

“Hey, um. Can I get some water?” Alexis raises an eyebrow. “You look lovely, by the way!” Appeased, Alexis opens the connecting door to what he assumes is their parents’ room. Patrick sits down on the edge of Alexis’s bed with a _thunk_.

“Heeeere you go! One water!”

“Thanks.”

Patrick fumbles bringing the bottle to his lips. Fortunately Alexis jumps out of the way in time to keep any from getting on her shoes with the...feather...things.

"Oh, you poor little button! You're about to vibrate right out of your skin!"

Patrick attempts a smile.

“Now, what can we do with you?”

++++++++++

If anything, Patrick feels more frantic than he did before. He smiles graciously at Alexis, kisses her on the cheek, closes the motel door softly behind him, and...runs. Takes off full-tilt...away, anywhere that’s _away_ , not even registering that that was _his_ car he had sprinted past in the parking lot. The streets are dark and these shoes aren’t made for this, especially on Schitt’s Creek’s poorly-maintained roads, but he can’t stop, convinced that if he _just keeps running_ , eventually the black spots in his vision will block out the image of Alexis cooing at him as she ordered him to his hands and knees on the cheap motel carpet.

But suddenly there’s light ahead, and Patrick realizes he’s made his way into the center of town. Twyla is locking up the cafe for the night, and a chill runs up his spine at the thought of having to make small talk with her, like the energy thrumming in his veins is some physical force he might...he might _hurt_ her with. He ducks into the shadows, thumping his head back against brick and finds himself leaning up against…

Oh.

Of course.

His body has led him back to his store. David’s store. 

_Their_ store.

Once Twyla is out of sight, he walks up to the front and lets himself in. He has no plan, other than a vague notion that sitting by himself in the dark sounds like the safest idea. ( _Who knows, maybe he’s about to transform into some B-movie werewolf? That would certainly explain a lot._ ).

Not part of his non-plan? Running straight into David. _Fuck_. They literally smack into each other in the dark ( _why aren’t there any lights on?_ ) as David steps out from behind the curtain of the stockroom. Patrick feels a tiny thread of tension bleed out of him as David screeches like a little girl and jumps about ten feet in the air: all isn’t quite right with the world, but David is still very reliably David. Patrick puts his hands on David’s shoulders to steady him.

“Oh my god, David, I’m so sorry. It’s just, there weren’t any lights on, so…”

“No, no, my fault; I said I would stay away from the motel for two hours so— Wait, shouldn’t you still be there with Alexis? Ugh, did she cancel with you just so she could have the room to herself? That little B! I’m going to give her favorite shoes to Roland and Jocelyn for roleplay…”

“David, no! It was....um...it was me? I mean. Thank you for suggesting I see Alexis and — wow, I really appreciate you giving us privacy — umm. She did her thing? And she was very good!” Patrick says urgently, somehow compelled to defend Alexis’s talents as a _Domme_ to her _brother_? _Dear god._ “But I think it was me? I don’t know.” Patrick puts his back against the wall and allows himself to slide down to the floor, knees up so he can hug them and have somewhere to rest his head.

“Do you want to tell me more about that? I’d like to understand.” David perches himself on the end of one of the display tables in the middle of the floor.

Patrick is still looking to the side, only able to see David’s feet swinging above the floor. “Heh. Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Mm. Just. No explicit descriptions of Alexis in a sexual — _ugh_ — capacity, please. I reserve the right to dissolve our partnership should you say anything that will scar me for life.”

Patrick lets out a genuine laugh, again comforted by David being...David. “Understood. So. I went to the motel. Alexis was very nice. She tried a few different, uh, approaches? But she could see I was still wound up. There were...some things you probably don’t want to know about,” David makes a distressed whine, “and I thanked her. She looked a little put out, but I think she understood something about me that I wasn’t quite getting?”

David’s voice is barely above a whisper. “And what was that?”

Patrick shuts his eyes tight, despite not being able to see David and knowing David can only see the back of Patrick’s head. “She said that what she does...it works best with people who are attracted to her? Sexually? What was it? Something about how subs need to want her body,” — _there’s that whine again, louder this time_ — “something she can refuse them, for incentive? It’s just how she works.”

“Just letting you know you are on some _very_ thin ice right now. But continue.”

Patrick finally looks up. “David, nothing happened. Alexis was very respectful. It’s just...there was no incentive for me. I wasn’t attracted to her.”

David lets out a low chuckle. “Well I can see how she’d be put out; that doesn’t happen to Alexis very often.”

Patrick itches at the back of his neck and takes a deep breath. “David. I think it didn’t work because Alexis is a woman.”

Time stops. It feels like neither of them is breathing. Patrick’s skin feels tight. He itches to get up and take off running again.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

A heavy silence hangs in the air while David’s face goes on a long and complicated journey. Finally, he stands up, takes Patrick’s hands, and levers him up off the floor, guiding him behind the stock room curtain before closing it behind them. He doesn’t turn on any lights. Patrick’s pulse pounds. He tries to adjust to his surroundings, assumes he’ll be able to sense the relative position of the items scattered around the room. He’s wrong, and takes a chair to the shin for his arrogance. But then David’s hands are resting tentatively on his shoulders, and Patrick lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“I’d like to try something, if it’s okay with you? I just, umm. So I don’t have much experience on this side of things: I’m usually the giv _ee_ not the giv _er_. But.”

There’s a very long pause. Patrick isn’t sure if he’s meant to respond, or if David has more to say. Finally, David continues. “Do you— can you trust me? Just for a few minutes?”

The thought makes Patrick feel warm inside. Yes, he can give David his trust. He nods into the darkness, knowing David’s fingers will pick up the movement in Patrick’s neck. David uses one hand on Patrick’s shoulder and another on his waist to turn him around, taking one more step forward to envelop Patrick in a hug. They slot together so perfectly. Patrick forgets how to breathe.

Then David’s arm comes up, and Patrick shivers when the cool metal of David’s bold silver rings — today arranged two on his ring finger and one each on his middle and index fingers — slide along Patrick’s neck. David’s fingertips have found their way to the back of Patrick’s head, and are now, quite unbelievably, scritching their way along his scalp, back and forth and up and down, insistent but gentle. He feels the tiniest hint of David’s neatly-manicured nails and zeroes in on that sensation, letting it silence the judgemental voices that fill his mind. The feeling is enhanced when the angle of David’s fingers changes so that Patrick can feel the blunt edges where each band doesn’t quite meet, scraping along his neck. Patrick whimpers, then feels himself melt away.

There’s nothing left but darkness and silence and softness and warmth.

Minutes or hours or days pass before Patrick’s awareness of his environment starts to return. He needs to tell David how sorry he is for clinging to him, and starts to pull away, an apology on his tongue. But David’s fingers remain on Patrick’s neck, and are gripping _hard_ , and oh _fuck_ , Patrick’s knees threaten to buckle.

A buzz fills his ears. It takes him several moments to realize it’s David, speaking to him.

“Look at me.” David commands, and Patrick has no choice but to obey, looking where he can just see the whites of David’s eyes glowing in the amber light filtering in through the stained glass.

“Good. Stay still.” David moves until their foreheads are pressed together, sharing breath. There’s nothing in the world Patrick wants more in this moment than to look away; to escape the scrutiny, how he feels like David is peeling back the layers that protect Patrick from harm, because David knows those same layers are suffocating him. He has to — _has to_ — trust that David knows what he needs.

“I’m going to take care of you. Everything you’re feeling, put it all on me; I can handle it. Breathe with me, that’s it. Good, keep that up. You’re doing so well.”

Patrick whines pitifully. He simultaneously feels like he’s drowning, and like he’s finally taking his first breath after a lifetime spent underwater. The silence returns, the hug gets tighter, and Patrick lets himself be lulled by his own heartbeat.

When his awareness returns again, he can feel a spot on David’s soft — so, _so_ soft — sweater, damp with the moisture of Patrick’s own breath where he had tucked his face along David’s neck. He has a tiny impulse of guilt, for hurting one of the garments David so treasures, and whispers as much to David.

“Hey, none of that. No apologizing.”

“But I—”

“Nope, no, unh uh. All you need to do right now is listen to what I tell you, and do it. Did I say you couldn’t drool on my sweater? No I did not. I consider it an acceptable casualty, in these extraordinary circumstances.”

“David…”

Wait, why is David looking at him like that? Has he done something wrong? God the sweater is so soft; he can’t stop touching it. He’s _petting David’s chest_. Those are his hands, right? He can’t stop, but he can’t watch, either.

“Open your eyes, Patrick.”

Patrick tries. He really does. He _does_ trust David, wants to be _good_ for David (and boy does that realization do funny things to his insides), but feels himself collapsing under the weight of David’s gaze.

When David squeezes his shoulder, fingers brushing his neck and skating up the back of Patrick’s head, it’s so delicious...and then — holy _fuck_ — David gets a grip on the hair at the top of Patrick’s head and yanks, too much but _nononono_ not enough.

“If you like that — if you want more of that — you have one chance to look me straight in the eye and say, ‘More, David.’”

“ _More_ , David. Jesus Christ, please.”

He’s rewarded with another tug so sharp it brings him up onto his toes. Patrick is suddenly very aware of how their bodies now line up, with him another two inches off the ground. There’s a moment of...something...and someone lets out a moan.

Patrick is about eighty-seven percent certain it’s _not_ him this time. He tucks a secret smile into David’s shoulder.

“You’re so good,” David starts to whisper, “so, _so_ good. Such a good boy for me. I’m so proud of you. I know you’re trying so hard; working so hard. Have I told you how much I appreciate you? I do. I couldn’t do this without you, Patrick.”

And he’s swimming; floating, gentle waves breaking around him. Beautiful, soft sounds fill his ears, mixing with the soft words David continues to speak. It’s so peaceful out here: even in the wide expanses; the fathomless depths, Patrick’s brain tells him over and over again that this is home. Nothing can hurt him so long as the water carries him.

Patrick sinks further into David’s embrace, soft and firm and _so fucking soft_. He feels so small; so safe in David’s arms.

He’s exactly where he needs to be.

++++++++++

Eventually, Patrick has to get out of the water. He licks the salty damp from his lips, but it’s not til David hands him what he can feel is a tissue that he realizes it’s not ocean water, but tears covering his face. 

The tissue remains clutched in his hand while he wipes his eyes on David’s poor, abused sweater.

The clock ticks away the seconds as the fog in Patrick’s mind starts to clear. He’s mostly limp, allowing his body to be moved wherever David thinks it should go. It’s only once he’s looking at David’s stomach that he realizes he’s been made to sit in the old chair he’d banged his shin on...wait, how long ago was that?

Holy shit. 9:43. He left Alexis and what happened at the motel nearly an hour ago.

Everything feels very strange. But it’s okay. David is here.

Why is David so far away? And why does David being so far away make him feel so empty inside? The whine that builds in the back of his throat brings David rushing back through the curtain.

“David? What’s happening?”

“I think you’re dropping? At least a little bit? Which, wow, you must have needed that _bad_ , if that was all it took. Basically all those nice chemicals that built up in your brain are wearing off, so you’re going to feel...not great...for a while. Here, drink this.” David holds out an opened bottle of water, and Patrick moans at the cool feeling in his mouth and down his throat. He doesn’t even care that some of it is spilling down his chest; it still feels amazing. Patrick looks up to see David holding a strawberry. He nods, and David brings it to Patrick’s lips, touching two fingers gently below his chin to keep Patrick’s face tilted up. The juice from the strawberry follows the same trail down his neck that the water had.

After two more strawberries have been tenderly fed to him, Patrick closes his eyes and lets himself lean back. He feels David sit down on the floor next to him before lacing their fingers together. Patrick breathes, inhale-exhale, once, twice, three times. That tightness in his chest is mostly gone, and he feels a bit strange in a new way, but the buzz in his head is subsiding. He squeezes David’s hand.

“Thank you, David.”

“Any time.”

**Author's Note:**

> And that, folks, is my 20th work in 2020! It’s been wild getting back into writing after 13 (I had thought it was 10 until I went and looked it up) years. Thank you to everyone who’s commented and kudos’ed over the last 6 months! It’s what’s kept me going.


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